


as your true colours show

by brodinsons (aeon_entwined)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: (THIS IS EXTREMELY MINIMAL I'M ONLY TAGGING IT AS A PRECAUTION), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, M/M, Madeleine Era, Vampires, sorry for the amount of suck i haven't written in months
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:06:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeon_entwined/pseuds/brodinsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valjean finds an unlikely confidant in Javert when their relationship takes yet another turn for the unexpected. </p><p>Based entirely off sketches of a piece of art by <a href="http://javerfeyrac.tumblr.com/">Dennis</a>, which now resides at the end of the fic. Blame him for this. I know I do. (My knowledge of vampire lore is extremely minimal so this is a conglomeration of many different aspects and origins; apologies for any inaccuracies.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	as your true colours show

**Author's Note:**

  * For [javerfeyrac](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=javerfeyrac).



Javert sits on Valjean's bed, clad in nothing but a thin undershirt and loose trousers. He seems untroubled for the most part, though the fists clenched upon his folded legs reveal otherwise.

Valjean swallows. The falsehood of Madeleine has worn thin enough for Javert to have seen through long before now, but Javert has either elected to turn a blind eye to him in the face of what he has done for this town and its people, or he has simply refused to acknowledge the truth for the sake of his career and sanity.

Something tells him it may well be the latter, given that Javert has addressed him by his birth name only twice in the years they have called Montreuil-sur-Mer their home.

Both times have been in the instant they have both achieved the peak of ecstasy together.

Whenever Valjean has tried to broach the topic in the privacy of his office or home, Javert has expertly steered them away from it. Perhaps he feels unable to allow this ... _thing_ ... between them if he acknowledges the truth of their circumstances.

Still, there is no hiding from each other any longer. They have both shown their hands and accepted the results for what they are.

He admitted his most closely-guarded secret to Javert not long after their last time jouncing the man's bed. Javert had attempted to dismiss it as a joke, but Valjean had pleaded with him to understand.

Javert avoided him for nearly two weeks.

Valjean finally cornered him in the factory office, explaining his truthfulness, his desperation to live an honest life in spite of his curse. When Javert demanded to know how he survived when any human dish wouldn't suffice, Valjean explained that he provided the hospital with extra funds in order to procure a sufficient amount of blood from their stores for his continued survival.

Laid bare, Valjean had done nothing as Javert shoved him against his own desk, one thumb pushing his upper lip out of the way in order to expose his canines. Frightened and overwhelmed by Javert's proximity with his defenses so lowered, Valjean's canines lengthened into the sharp fangs that set him apart from the rest of mortal humanity; marking him as one of the damned.

Javert had fled the office shortly thereafter and Valjean had been forced to lock the door while he suffered through pangs of withdrawal after having the man so close and yet receiving no relief.

He keeps his nature under lock and key, doing his best to remove himself from situations where he knows he may be compromised.

Javert has made such efforts extremely exhausting as of late. Especially with his most recent offer.

A month after his confession, Valjean was startled to find Javert in his office prior to his own arrival. After some stilted pleasantries, Javert had offered, in his own brusque way, to assist with obtaining enough blood to keep him strong and healthy without having a detrimental effect on Montreuil's hospital.

Perplexed, Valjean had asked him to clarify.

After a fortifying breath, Javert had squared his shoulders, looked him in the eye, and bluntly offered himself as a sacrificial lamb, so to speak.

Better him than some poor sickly child that ends up in the hospital ward when their stocks are low, he had said.

Valjean thinks of him more as a wolf in sheep's clothing. They are both capable of exacting a terrible amount of damage on each other, each in his own way, but they have elected a different path instead.

And so, here they are.

Valjean stands in the doorway to his room, staring at Javert's tense back. His tongue feels thick in his mouth; clumsy and useless.

Still, he makes his way to the bed, folding his legs beneath him as he settles behind Javert on the mattress. They have been here before numerous times, though never for this purpose.

"Are you certain?" Valjean ghosts a tentative hand over the broad span of the inspector's shoulder.

Javert grunts, once, in acknowledgment.

Valjean swallows again, and he can already feel his canines lengthening with the promise of a hearty meal so close at hand. He closes his eyes and sends a fractured prayer heavenward. He has tried so hard to master his nature; to not allow it to control him. In the beginning, shortly after his release from Toulon, he had fled to the outskirts of society in the hopes of either starving or being killed by an elder of his cursed kind. Then, the Bishop showed him that he is still capable of doing good, so long as he learns restraint.

And here, Javert is testing his every limit.

Valjean carefully pulls the collar of Javert's shirt low enough to expose his shoulder, wincing as he hears the _pop_ of several buttons. Javert makes no indication that he heard or felt the stitching rip free.

This close, he can _smell_ the blood coursing through Javert's veins. It's intoxicating. Like an elixir that has been denied to him up until this moment.

He whimpers quietly, unable to help himself, as he presses reverent lips to the strong line of Javert's bare shoulder. Beneath his lips, Javert shudders, but he doesn't move away. He is practically salivating at this point, unable to help the way his body responds from his head to his toes; his skin flushes with what little blood remains in his living veins, his cock stiffens against the coarse material of his trousers, his fingers clutch almost desperately at Javert's hips.

Then, before his will can fail him or Javert can change his mind, Valjean parts his lips and sinks hungry teeth into the meat of Javert's shoulder.

Javert cries out as unnaturally sharp canines tear into his flesh, and Valjean scrambles to grasp one of Javert's hands within his own, their fingers tangling together as naturally riverwater winding between stones.

The blood that floods past his lips is like nothing he's ever tasted before. Valjean moans helplessly, clenching his jaw so as to lock himself to Javert's shoulder and do his best to avoid causing him more pain.

Javert's answering moan is laced with pain, and the fingers curled around his own squeeze tighter than he imagined possible. Valjean wants to tear himself away, to curse himself and declare himself a monster for having ever allowed this. But he _cannot_.

The blood on his tongue and over his teeth is warm and _alive_ , flooding his senses with a keen sharpness he hasn't known since he was first turned all those years ago. Valjean closes his lips over the sluggishly bleeding gash and sucks as gently as he can manage, savoring every mouthful as it trickles down his throat.

Javert shudders and jerks against him, and when Valjean manages to spare a glance down his front, he sees Javert rutting helplessly against the palm of his free hand, eyes shut, his breath whistling through clenched teeth.

Valjean fumbles for a moment, struggling to offer his own free hand as well, then to press his aching arousal against the small of Javert's back as they jerk and rut awkwardly against each other.

Finally, all it takes is the light pressure of his tongue against the opened wound for Javert to cry out again, this time in ecstasy. The fabric between his hand and the warmth of Javert's prick dampens with Javert's spend, and Valjean shudders in sympathy.

His own climax is less of an event and more of an inevitability; a slow shiver running the length of his spine as he spends in his trousers as well. Distantly, he makes a note to divest them of their clothes before trying this again. If there is a next time.

Javert exhales a small sound, and Valjean immediately brings his free arm up to encircle his torso, holding him steady as Javert sways just a little. He licks apologetically at the slowly healing wound on Javert's shoulder, and continues until the flesh knits, leaving behind only a faint scar in the pattern of his canines.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against the side of Javert's throat, a wave of shame and guilt threatening to overtake him. "I'm so sorry."

Javert breathes quietly for a few moments, and until he feels a gentle squeeze around the fingers of the hand still entwined with Javert's own, Valjean fears he may never be forgiven for this monster he's become.

"It is alright," Javert's voice is hoarse, as though he has run for miles. "Just ... unexpected. In many ways."

Valjean laughs helplessly, pressing his lips first to Javert's throat, then to the recently healed skin, unable to help himself. He feels ... possessive ... in a way he did not before. He isn't yet sure where this might lead but perhaps he should let it play out as it will.

"You aren't hurt?" he feels compelled to demand it of the man.

Javert laughs in turn, then nods. "Tired. I think I'd like to rest here tonight."

Valjean nods instantly, and tries to help Javert down onto the mattress so they can both stretch out on their sides, though Javert merely huffs and swats his hands away.

"I am not an invalid, you overbearing mother hen," he shuffles around, then settles on his opposite side, curled towards Valjean. "Fetch me some water if you must have something to keep yourself occupied."

Valjean's smile is relieved, and unaccountably fond as he reaches over to touch the man's cheek.

For all that they've been, and for all that they've done, he could have never predicted that it would lead up to this moment. Strangely enough, he is entirely at peace with it. The world seems brighter, suddenly. As though a cloud has passed and the stars have returned; the sentinels lighting their path into an uncertain future.


End file.
